Close by the summerhouse door,
Bees busy on an obelisk
of tiny blue blooms –
survival’s not for slackers –
Jackdaws bicker,
flustering their rooftop politics.

Damp in the hem of the breeze
that brushes shell shards
of wind chimes pinned long ago
to painted wooden eaves.
Honeysuckle breathes out
it’s sweet portent of evening.

 

~ Polly Oliver 2020

6 thoughts on “Garden I

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